When The World Stops Turning
by iamnotamagpie
Summary: John and Mary are married and Sherlock is alone in 221B. A canine encounter leads Sherlock to discover a possible new... acquaintance? Set after Series 3 but ignoring Moriarty's return and Mary's pregnancy. Original Character. Slight hints of romance later.
1. The Meeting

_**First Sherlock fic, set after Series 3 but ignoring Moriarty's return. Enjoy!**_

_**These are a selection of stories concerning Sherlock meeting someone new. I can't write cases at the moment so imagine the spaces between the chapters are Sherlock and John working as usual. Thanks! **_

_**[Just updated for the paragraph breaks as couldn't work out how to use the enter on here! I'm new, bear with!]**_

* * *

**2pm Thursday**

'Sherlock, for the last time, the ocean is called saltwater because it tastes like salt. How did you not, in your 'incredibly remarkable brain', realise that?'

'I knew the term, I just didn't know it was an accurate term. The beach? Do I really look like a beach person to you?!'

Sherlock Holmes stopped on the pavement and gestured incredulously to himself. Doctor John Watson took a second to look at his friend; shined shoes, wool coat down past his knees, scarf French-knotted at his neck.

'I suppose not, no. But surely you went on some sort of seaside holiday? You didn't necessarily have to stick your head into the water…'

They continued to walk down the London streets, past town houses with neat cut hedges and black painted gates.

'I stayed in the amusements, working out who would win and who was wasting their money.'

'You should have charged for your services, I'm sure you could have made a fortune.'

'I did. Mycroft got jealous so I had to stop…'

They rounded a corner towards a park, couples out for a stroll, stressed businessmen and women carrying briefcases and talking animatedly on mobile phones.

'That somehow doesn't surprise me…'

They stepped out of the way to let a woman with a twin buggy pass. Well, John stepped out of the way, Sherlock merely turned sideways and then continued walking.

'Where are we headed?'

'South Kensington, man apparently has a haunting in his attic that is wreaking havoc with the water…'

'So we're ghost hunters now?' John asked, amusedly.

'No, it's his sister. Trying to get him to move out so they don't have any more awkward encounters with him and her boyfriend's- AWWWW!'

The sound that came out of Sherlock's mouth was such a shock that it caused John to jump. He found his partner in solving crimes bent down next to a young woman's dog, a furry thing, which seemed very pleased with attention.

'Aw, you're lovely,' John heard him say, smiling at the canine. He paid no mind to the woman, though, being a dog owner, she was grateful someone liked her companion.

John stood looking at his watch until Sherlock finally, after making some ridiculous noises at the poor thing, let them continue with their walk and joined John again.

'We should have this sorted in an hour or less,' said Sherlock back to his usual deep voiced tone.

John could not fathom how he could switch so easily but paid it no mind, since he recalled how Sherlock had once, drunkenly, spoke of his love of his childhood dog Redbeard, a red setter.

They continued through the park and on to their client.

Sherlock was right again.

Forty minutes.

* * *

**One Month Later**

She turned up the digital radio as it started to blare out 'Friday, I'm In Love' by The Cure and danced in her pyjamas around the room. Sitting down in front of her mirror, with make up spread out, she started to apply black eyeliner above her lashes.

Carefully.

Carefully.

Carrrreeeeeefullyyyyy.

Shit.

She put the eyeliner down on the desk and reached for a cotton bud to removed the obscure flick of black making it's way up her eyelid and reapplied.

Half an hour later, make up done, she was standing in front of the full length mirror, checking the reflection of her dress at all angles. It was a-line skirted and came to just above her knees, with a tiny white flowered pattern on a peach background. Satisfied, she slipped on a pair of peach-coloured heeled pumps and picked up her evening bag.

* * *

7.30pm.

Any minute now.

* * *

7.40pm.

The doorbell rang once, sharply.

She walked calmly to the door and unlocked it.

Upon pulling it open, she looked at the dark figure on the other side and simply said, 'You're late,' with a smirk.

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a brief smile, 'My apologies, Miss Aria,' and offered his arm.

She stepped out and locked her front door before talking his arm and climbing into the back of the black taxi.

'So…'

'So.'

'….Dinner,' she smiled.

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_**Please review!**_

_**x**_


	2. An Average Encounter

_**I own none of the characters except Mira Aria who is my own creation.**_

* * *

The restaurant had been chosen by Sherlock, mainly due to Miss Aria's love of Japan, judging by the origami crane tattoo on her shoulder and the Japanese artwork hanging from her wall in her flat. She was also fluent in Japanese, having spent a great deal of time there, so he knew a more authentic setting would please her.

Mira Aria was sitting across from Sherlock Holmes wondering if he knew how much she adored Japan, its culture, art and food. If she was honest with herself, he had probably worked that out the second they met for the second time. Though quite how she had found herself invited to dinner she wasn't sure…

* * *

'_Good afternoon.__'_

'_Hello,__'__ Mira smiled the handsome figure walking past her in the park. _

'_Where is your dog?__'_

_The question startled her. To begin with, how did he know her dog. And secondly, she was fairly sure she had not spoken to him before._

'_Um..__'_

'_I__'__m sorry, my name is Sherlock Holmes, you passed myself and my friend five days ago with your dog and I stopped to__…__ Say hello. To the dog.__'__ He paused and then held out his hand. _

_The way he was spilling information reminded her slightly of the text books from high school. Straight to the point, no messing about, explanation and done. _

'_It__'__s nice to meet you, I think, Mr Holmes.__'__ She took his offered hand and shook. __'__Mira Aria.__'_

'_Miss Aria.__'__ Firm handshake. Long fingers. Italian. Painted nails. Slight discolouration around the edges from acrylic paint. Recent. Artist. _

_He took back his hand and they stood for a moment in an awkward silence. _

'_Your dog.__'__ He suddenly stated. __'__I was asking about your dog.__'_

_She made eye contact for a second and looked down at her hands, picking at the edges of her nails. __'__Oh, err__…'__ she stuttered her words. _

_It took Sherlock less than a second. __'__Oh. My condolences on your loss.__'__ He looked awkwardly down at the ground. He had hopefully said the right thing. _

_She looked startled at his quick deduction and then looked back down at her hands. __'__Thank you.__'_

'_She was a lovely dog. I hope she had had a long__…__ life.__'_

'_She was 12 so__…__ yes I suppose that__'__s one good thing,__'__ Mira smiled and looked up at Sherlock. He had shockingly blue eyes that seemed to pierce her and draw out all her secrets. She focussed on his coat collar instead._

_Sherlock stretched his lips into a thin sorry smile. _

'_Are you walking this way?__'__ Mira gestured down the gravel path by the lake. _

_The question took Sherlock by surprise. __'__Yes,__'__ was all that was quickly stuttered. _

'_Would you like to walk with me?__'_

_Sherlock thought for a millisecond before deciding that yes, he would like to walk with the dog-loving Italian artist who lived in the opposite direction to the way they would walk. _

_He nodded. _

'_Good,__'__ she smiled. _

_They began to stroll, about a foot apart by the lakeside, various wildfowl honking and quacking in the water. Mira was thinking about how long it had been since she had last fed breadcrumbs to the ducks. Sherlock was wondering how many people realised that feeding bread to ducks could kill them and if anyone really cared enough to stop. _

'_So.__'_

_Mira pulled herself out of her daydream and turned to Sherlock __'…__so?__'_

_Sherlock decided he had not thought through his declaration before speaking. He searched for something to say, __'…__.so,__'__ he repeated, __'…__what do you do?__'_

* * *

Their main courses arrived, whilst Sherlock was using unnecessary detail as he described a case where the resident's body had been rather badly scavenged by her cat after being locked in the house for four days with no food. Sherlock had not given any thought to the fact that Mira was still present at the table, listening intently and had not deserted him in the middle of a sentence. By the time they had finished and were on the dessert menu, Mira was trying to work out a way to pause Sherlock so she could go to the bathroom, yet still having him pick up where he left off. This turned out to be less of a problem than she thought as he stopped in the middle of a word when she, after giving up trying to get his attention by speaking, touched his hand as he was demonstrating how easy it actually was to break into his friend John Watson's secret safe - which turned out to not be so secret after Sherlock heard him muttering about it in his sleep one night a few years earlier, though John had and still has no memory of this.

'Hold that thought, I'll be back in a moment.'

Sherlock stayed in the same position the whole time she was in the bathroom, finding the deductions he could make from the touch of her fingers quite fascinating. When she returned he waited until she had sat down comfortably and looked to him, giving a nod as confirmation to continue, before he started to speak again.

By the time dessert had been cleared and Sherlock had insisted on paying for the bill, they had cleared up the Cat Murder Case and were standing outside the restaurant.

There was a not completely awkward silence as they stood in the dark, quiet street.

'So.'

'…So…?'

'What normally happens now?'

Mira grinned and laughed. 'That depends. I would suggest in an average situation, you would either offer to walk me home, or offer to get me a taxi...'

Sherlock took a second, eyes roaming over her face. 'Taxi?'

'Taxi.' She grinned again.

He moved to the side of the road and held his hand up when he saw a passing black London car with its sign lit up. It smoothly sidled up to the curb and Sherlock opened the back door.

'Thank you for dinner,' Mira said as she stepped inside and sat down.

'You're welcome.'

'See you again,' she smiled and Sherlock closed the door.

He noticed the lack of a question in her voice. As the taxi joined the road again, he stood and watched, debating whether or not to raise his suspicions with John. He decided it was best not to, turned and walked away from the restaurant entrance.

* * *

_**Please review!**_


	3. Shelter

**_As usual I do not own any of the characters apart from Mira... Enjoy! _**

* * *

Sherlock found himself sitting across from Mira for the second time in a week. John and Mary had gone away for the weekend… somewhere… calm… for some reason. Sherlock wasn't talking so he didn't take in the entire reason for their sudden disappearance. Though if Sherlock had been paying attention he would have known that John had warned him a whole month before they left and told him exactly where they were going and that he was leaving the phone number and address of the hotel on the mantelpiece in case there was a _serious_ - John had emphasised the word serious many times - emergency. This had only registered with the detective when he had called Greg Lestrade to report John's disappearance and Lestrade had simply sighed and asked Sherlock if he had inspected the mantelpiece recently.

'Why?'

'For _clues_, Sherlock.'

Sherlock was hoping John would not have disappeared for long.

* * *

'Are you ok?' Mira pulled Sherlock out of his daydreaming with her concerned tone.

Sherlock cleared his throat. 'Fine.'

'Shall we walk? The café's getting a bit crowded now…' She gestured around the small establishment they were seated in.

Sherlock frowned and nodded once, standing whilst Mira collected her things.

They left, Sherlock holding open the door for Mira, she in turn holding it open for a father and his son.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Sherlock had explained how the father was contemplating if his separated wife would agree to a surprise dinosaur themed birthday party for their son despite their religious parents, and if it was possible to buy a six foot tall tyrannosaurus rex balloon. Mira found this to be rather sweet; Sherlock was disproving various religious practices in his head.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, it began to rain.

* * *

Sixteen minutes later, it was pouring in true British late spring style.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the pair were standing in the hallway of Mira's small flat; Mira herself ensuring the contents of her satchel were still dry, Sherlock wondering if Mira knew the leather her satchel was made out of was goat and not cow, like she clearly suspected. He decided it would be best not to bring it up.

'Well, welcome to my… home,' Mira smiled and gestured around her. The flat was small but the décor made it look sizeable. In layout it was similar to Sherlock's, only cleaner, tidier and much lighter. The walls of the main room were off-white with large purple velvet curtains. The kitchen was separated by a small breakfast bar and painted buttercup yellow. Though the space was open, art works hung from every available surface. The sofa was a deep sea blue facing a flat screen television surrounded by storage units and cushions were scattered on a large board, made into a window seat. Any regular guest would have looked around and thought, yes, this fits her flair and personality perfectly, what a lovely, kind space.

Sherlock noticed the things others would miss.

One of the paintings bared the signature "S. Aria" - a relative who had given Mira the painting as a gift when she moved to London. There was a complete collection of Shakespeare's works on the shelf, immaculately kept, yet the Chronicles of Narnia books next to it were slightly dusty. On the mantelpiece above the fireplace, which had been cleaned after its use over winter, lay a dog collar with tags next to a photo of Mira and the furry dog in a silver frame, the bottom plaque reading 'I Love My Dog'. Under the glass coffee table were fashion and tattoo magazines as well as two books, one on a fashion designer Sherlock did not recognise the name of and another on the psychology of the minds of serial killers.

Sherlock decided to stay.

They sat on the sofa drinking tea. Mira was wishing she'd taken the vacuum cleaner round that morning, noticing the odd bit of dust on her patterned rug under the coffee table. Sherlock was thinking about how Mira made an excellent cup of tea and wondered if he could ask for a couple of bags to take home and run tests to compare against Mrs Hudson's preferred brew.

They stayed in silence for a little as they warmed up and drank their tea, before Mira broke the silence.

'Would you like me to show you round?'

Sherlock thought it fairly obvious that they were sitting in the living room and opposite them was the kitchen and down the hall was her bedroom followed by the bathroom. He also thought it was possibly best not to state this and simply agreed.

They left their cups in the kitchen as she described how the place had been less than homely when she first moved in.

'Dark and grey and generally very much like London on the outside!'

Sherlock smiled at that.

'Here is the bathroom, not much of a surprise in there…' she briefly opened the door to show blue and white tiles with an abundance of beach and boat themed objects sitting on shelves.

'And this is my bedroom,' she opened a white painted wooden door to an oblong room with a double bed, wall of wardrobe space and a dressing table. Sherlock and Mira both noticed the five toy rabbits sitting against the cushion on the bed. Mira quickly looked at the floor and her face flushed. 'Moving on…'she hastened to shut the door. Sherlock frowned but didn't press her for more.

'And this…' Mira cleared her throat as she moved to open the last door on the right, 'is where I work.'

The door creaked slightly as it opened on a small square room, big enough only to be a child's bedroom. Instead of furniture, there were easels with canvases and boards stacked on and around them. Some were very small, others were half Sherlock's height at least. Everyone of them was a painting or drawing of an animal. Most were dogs, long muzzles and little squashed noses, looking somehow photographic and unreal at the same time. Next to the door were images of livestock: cows, chickens, pigs. There were shire horses in full bridle, buckles shining.

'Mostly people; farmers or pet owners, ask me if I can paint their favourite animal or prize winning goat or whatever,' she laughed and surveyed the room, 'sometimes, I'm just out with my camera and see a horse in a field and decide I want to… immortalise it in an acrylic moment. I think someone should be able to appreciate the beauty of things that they would pass by so quickly so I-'

'It's… good.' Sherlock was staring at a large canvas of a Highland cow, its tongue halfway to it's nose.

'Good?'

'You're…' he waved his hand slightly at the art around him, '...good.'

Mira grinned, her cheeks turning slightly pink, 'Thank you, Sherlock.'

'You're welcome,' he mumbled, and spun around, his mind taking in every portrait, storing it away just in case. 'You shouldn't be so nervous about it. It's good.'

'It's good.'

He looked up at her, corners of his mouth pulling up slightly, 'Yes.'

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_**Please review and tell me what you think! Always nice to know :)**_


	4. My Acquaintance

**Sorry for the delay, serious case of writer's block! **

***Also, should mention I am also ignoring Mary's pregnancy in this story. I did plan to put it in but it just didn't seem to fit***

**I do not own any of the characters apart from Mira Aria who is my own creation**

* * *

The warm summer breeze blew through the slightly open window of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock repositioned the various paperweights on the desks around him, ensuring they were holding down his notepapers as they fluttered.

Mira fluffed her hair in the mirror above the fireplace and turned to gaze around the flat. Sherlock took this opportunity to observe in more detail Mira's appearance in more detail, as one usually would have done upon first meeting.

Her clothes were not expensive but stylish.

Skinny jeans and a flowing sleeveless top with blue flat pumps.

Her waist length light brown hair was braided at the sides away from her face and hung in loose waves down her back.

She was slim, Sherlock supposed, with curved hips.

Clear olive skin and very little make up.

Dark green eyes.

She had never worn glasses nor braces as her teeth were naturally rather straight.

She was a little shorter than Sherlock, as he had realised when he was talking to her and ended up staring at her forehead.

Mira, oblivious to the thoughts Sherlock was saving in his mind palace, continued to explore 221B as he had urged her to, following his comments that he had notes to compile. Mrs Hudson, Sherlock's landlady, had gone out for another of her coffee mornings, as the note on the door had stated upon their arrival. Sherlock had huffed until Mira offered to make them tea. He brightened at the concept.

She walked around the kitchen, electing to keep away from the strange mixtures bubbling away in test tubes on the table in the centre.

She noticed the lack of food in his cupboards along with the ample amount of teabags, some the same brand she used.

Lastly, she drew her attention to the fridge devoid of magnets except for one small round yellow one holding a postcard directly in Sherlock's line of sight. She carefully removed the card, a sunny scene of Plymouth seaside, and turned it over. There was neat cursive covering one side and the same writing depicting the address on the other.

It was signed 'John and Mary.'

* * *

'_He probably hasn__'__t even noticed that we__'__ve been gone yet.__'_

'_That__'__s still no reason for not sending one.__'_

_John Watson sighed at his wife, Mary. __'__Fine, but just be ready for the lack of interest when we get back, ok?__'_

_Mary picked up the seaside postcard and turned it over, pulling the lid off the biro and poising it to write, __'…__What should I say?__'_

_John sighed again, removing his sunglasses and putting down his book. __'__How about __"__Dear Sherlock, don__'__t forget the milk. Stop talking to the skull. John and Mary__"__?__'__ He turned to find Mary__'__s glare, though covered by oversized shade, still as fearsome as ever. _

'_Well, I don__'__t know then, you write it. But I would keep it short.__'_

'_Fine,__'__ Mary thought for a second then began to scribble on the back of the card. When she was done she cleared her throat and read it aloud._

'"_Dear Sherlock, Having a wonderful time in Plymouth. The sun is out, ice cream is being devoured at regular intervals, children are laughing, and sandcastles are being constructed everywhere. You would hate it. Hope London is surviving without the only consulting detective__'__s accomplice. Don__'__t burn down the flat. Love, John and Mary.__"'_

_John laughed out loud, Mary sniggering, scrunching up her nose. _

'_Perfect. Now put on this overly cheerful stamp and we__'__ll find a post-box__…'_

* * *

Mira smiled, replaced the card in what she thought was the exact same spot and opened the fridge door. Said cooling device contained: one tub of butter; three tomatoes; half a block of cheese - possibly growing mould, possibly intentionally; half a pint of _fresh_ milk; half a pint of _not-so-fresh _milk; a doorbell (?); a mobile phone (?!); and a ziplock bag containing something lumpy and red.

She tentatively picked up the ziplock bag with her index finger and thumb. There was no smell, though the red liquid was rolling around the bag, leaving the lumpy object mostly uncovered. Mira, now having a clearer view, saw that it was a heart.

'Errr…?' She held the bag as she turned to face Sherlock.

He looked up at the noise in amongst the silence and focussed on the bag.

'Ah, yes, I had forgotten about that,' he frowned.

Mira regarded the bag with interest.

'Cow, sheep or human?'

'Sheep.'

'Aww,' Mira sighed, disappointed. She had seen and dissected sheep hearts at school and was frankly more interested in something a bit different. She placed the bag back in the fridge and closed the door.

'What kind of experiments can you do on a sheep heart?' She asked as she wandered back into the living room towards the skull on the mantelpiece.

'Various…' said Sherlock, distractedly waving his hand in the air as he reviewed some notes.

Mira noticed the human skull above the fireplace and gently picked it up in her hand. She turned and began to recite in Sherlock's direction;

_"Alas, poor Yorik! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, most excellent fancy-"_

Sherlock sighed and stood, taking the skull from Mira's hand as she was in mid-Shakespearean-flow.

'Awww,' she moaned.

'Put Billy down, please.'

'Billy?' Mira looked towards the skull again and curtsied, pulling a pretend skirt out, 'I am very sorry for my outburst, dear Billy, it shall not happen again.'

Sherlock turned back to sit down and found himself suppressing a grin which, when he realised, turned itself into a confused frown.

Suddenly, Sherlock's mobile phone sprang to life with shrill tones blaring on the coffee table. Sherlock picked it up and, after checking the caller ID, answered and put the phone to his ear.

Not wanting to eavesdrop, Mira became overly interested in the statues on the table next to her. She could faintly hear Sherlock in the background, every so often replying 'Uh huh' and 'Yes, of course' to someone called 'Molly'. His energy grew and after a few minutes, he jumped up and said goodbye to the caller before pulling on his coat and running out the door, all the while jabbering on at such a pace that Mira could hardly understand a word. She stood alone in the middle of the flat, hearing Sherlock's fast footsteps grow further away. She wondered if she should follow him. Then they abruptly stopped. And grew louder as they ascended the stairs of which they had just descended. Sherlock's black-haired head popped round the door, collar of his greatcoat standing up against his neck.

'Err, follow me.'

Mira paused a moment before grabbing her trench coat from the back of the armchair and pulling it on as they both raced down and out the front door.

* * *

Down at St Bartholomew's Hospital, Molly Hooper and Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade stood in the morgue over a recently deceased dead body, awaiting the arrival of Sherlock Holmes.

The detective soon swooped into the room, coat flapping behind him and started to ask questions without giving either person a greeting, such was his excitement at the aforementioned corpse.

This surprised neither of them.

What did surprise them, however, was the addition of not John Watson, but of a strange young woman in a pink trench coat who followed him inside, looking slightly out of breath. Sherlock had already begun to talk as Molly and Lestrade glanced at each other, both clearly hoping the other would know who she was, yet both wore bewildered expressions. Sherlock was explaining the reasons for the dead-man-in-question's unusual lacerations on his calves, when he noticed that neither was listening to him and instead, both were looking questioningly at Mira, who was gazing around the room in apparent awe and fascination.

'…This is Mira,' Sherlock gestured, 'she's my…. Errr…. My…'His brow furrowed as he searched for what exactly she was.

'Acquaintance,' Mira finished for him, smiling.

'…Acquaintance,' he finished, 'Mira, this is Molly Hooper and Detective Inspector Gavin Lestrade.'

'Greg,' Lestrade corrected, shooting Sherlock a look, as he leaned over to shake Mira's hand.

'Nice to meet you,' she replied, smiling at Molly as shaking her hand seemed undesirable, given her latex gloves.

Sherlock continued his deduction and the three listened, Greg and Molly stealing glances at Mira, who seemed to be taking in at least some part of his explanation, stretching her neck to see what Sherlock pointed at on the body.

When he was done, they followed him and Molly through to the laboratory, so Sherlock could run some necessary tests on the matter found on the man's clothing. Mira sat on a stool a table away, thinking it better to not go near anything breakable or in any way possibly destructive. Molly aided Sherlock in sourcing the correct chemicals and apparatus as he sat at a microscope, eyes semi permanently glued to the lens.

Lestrade, watching Molly and Sherlock work in wonderment, caught Molly's eye as she stared at him.

'_Go talk to her_,' she mouthed to him, inclining her head towards Mira.

He and Molly exchanged various facial expressions, Molly's head-nodding getting more and more extravagant until he pushed his stool back and walked slowly over to where Mira was sitting. She turned to him and smiled, pulling out a stool next to her.

He sat and looked around, as if trying to find some inspiration for what to say. Mira continued to watch Sherlock working until Lestrade cleared his throat and turned.

'So… Mya…'

'Mira,' she corrected him with a gentle smile.

'Mira, sorry,' he grimaced and she giggled, 'Mira. How do you come to know Sherlock?' He realised the question sounded vaguely like an interrogation but it was all his mind could think to ask at this moment.

'Ah, um, well. We just got talking in the park and decided we got along… so…'

'So, you're friends?'

Mira questioned herself for a minute, '…Y-yes…?'

'Ok, cool,' Greg didn't think he had used the word in any other way than to describe something quite cold in a long time.

'Have you known him long?'

The questioned took Lestrade a little off guard and instantly brought back memories of the last few years. 'Yeah, I've known him a fair few years, he's been helping with cases… a long time now.' He couldn't exactly remember exactly how long and he didn't know if that scared or relieved him.

Mira nodded and turned back to watch Sherlock work. 'He's very good isn't he. Even if it does mean he has to shut most of the world out.'

The statement made Greg wonder just how long they had been 'friends'. He put it in quotations as, though he was sure it was entirely likely they had just met and become friends, Sherlock didn't seem the kind of man someone would simply 'get along with'.

They were brought out of their thoughts by a loud 'A-HA!' from Sherlock, who jumped up off the stool and sprinted out the main door. The three left behind all looked at the door and as Mira turned back to Lestrade, she found him looking at her, eyebrows raised and pointing to the door Sherlock had just exited. She looked towards Molly, who nodded towards the same door.

'Right, well, nice to meet you!' She said quickly, the other managing a 'You too', before jumping off her stool and running out the door after the consulting detective.

She managed to exit the building just as Sherlock had hailed a taxi and walked straight from the building through the door of the black vehicle Sherlock was holding open for her. He got in after and they sped off into the city.

* * *

**Please review! **


	5. Discovery

*Insert usual non-ownership writing here*

Enjoy!

* * *

John wrapped the scarf tighter around his neck, against the autumn chill, as he walked through Hyde Park. The leaves had almost all fallen and were creating an unappealing mush on the damp ground. Horses from the local riding school trotted past, their breath visible in the cold air.

Lost within his thoughts, John almost didn't notice the familiar tall shape of a person in a long dark coat walking in the opposite direction. Perhaps if it hadn't been for the woman walking beside him - John guessed woman due to the bright colour of the coat, though from this distance he supposed he could be wrong - he would have noticed his friend quicker. He changed his path slightly, so it would coincide with theirs and kept his head down, not wanting to draw attention to himself too soon. To be honest with himself, he was curious, Sherlock never having mentioned anyone outside their circle of friends. As he got closer he realised that it was in fact a woman, and a quite beautiful woman at that. She had her long hair braided over her shoulder, a woollen hat with cat ears covering most of her head and matching scarf. Knee length boots, black tights and a stylish pea green coat completed her outfit. She stared up at Sherlock's face with curiosity as he was in full-on monologue. They were just about to pass each other as Sherlock's eyes caught John's and he stopped talking. They all stopped and the young woman looked from John to Sherlock, who had a slightly shocked expression, like a fox that's just been caught in someone's back garden.

'Hello, Sherlock!' John said cheerily, trying to indicate he was not simply going to let Sherlock go so easily.

Of course Sherlock had already worked that out.

'Hello. I thought you were at the surgery today?'

'No, swapped for another day,' John was beginning to grin like a Cheshire cat who had just got hold of the Mad Hatter's hat, looking between Sherlock's rather steely expression and the young woman, who was looking amusement between the two men.

'Ah. Well I was going to call you in later, that case with the cowboy boots and the jealous mistress seems to be… going somewhere… interesting.' His eyes shifted quickly.

Sherlock Holmes was stuttering and pausing. John was going to have to make a note of this moment for future reference. Just like when he had caught him snoring. Actually _snoring_.

'Uh huh,' he knew he was going to have to bring it up himself as Sherlock didn't seem to be co-operating. He turned to the woman, 'Sorry, how rude of me. I'm John Watson.'

He put out his hand and she took it in hers, smiling.

'Lovely to meet you, John. Mira Aria. Would you be John as in "John and Mary"?'

'Yes. Yes, I am. How…?' He frowned.

'The postcard from Plymouth,' she answered, 'brought back some lovely memories of the area.'

So she had been inside the flat. Interesting. 'Yes, absolutely beautiful. Sherlock, you never told me you actually got it.'

Sherlock had a look of a child whose parent was discussing them, with them in the vicinity.

'I assumed that you would assume that I had received it and anyway there's no way I could reply, given that's not the natural idea of a postcard.'

He was almost pouting. John was almost overjoyed.

'Uh huh. Well then, I have to go but I'll see you later I suppose. Mira it was lovely to meet you, maybe I'll see you again.'

He smiled warmly at Mira and shot a grin in Sherlock's direction, for which he received scowl.

'Bye, John.'

'Goodbye.'

* * *

John arrived home, hanging his coat and scarf on the hooks by the door. The white wool coat next to his told him that Mary was home, made apparent by the noises coming from the kitchen. Mary Watson was standing in jeans and a jumper, sorting mugs in one of the cupboards on the wall. John moved up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

'Honey, I'm home,' he said, smiling into the soft blonde hair.

'Your dinner's in the dog,' she said sarcastically, grinning and turning around to kiss her husband.

'How was your day?'

'Oh, you know; work, food , work, food shopping, rush hour, home, tea, you- why are you smiling like that?'

John grinned, 'I met Sherlock.'

Mary raised an eyebrow. 'And… he experimented on you?'

John's grin dropped. 'No, we agreed it wasn't a very good idea after last time.'

'True. I would rather come home to my husband not staring at the wall and missing his eyebrows.'

'Ok, to be fair, you picked the worst example. But no, he has not been experimenting. I walked past him in Hyde Park. With a woman.'

'Uh huh.'

'…..Who was not Molly, or any other person we know, speak to, or are friends with and when I stopped to talk to him I swear the blue lasers from his eyes would've burned a hole in my forehead.'

'…And you're thinking…? What exactly are you thinking? John …Is he really the most likely person to have a secret girlfriend?'

'Well, he has been texting a lot more than usual, even when he's around me and I think there are, at the most, half a dozen contacts in his phone.'

'You've never heard him mention a thing about relationships, least of all _that_ kind of relationship. The only one he's got close to that is the Adler woman you told me about and even then I don't think they were exactly spending much time together outside of being possibly murdered and solving… whatever they were solving.'

'Yes, but-'

'And anyway, do you really think he would call her a girlfriend? I know you have known him longer and better than I have, but I wouldn't think, if he hasn't had much experience with that kind of relationship, he would suddenly wander round London proclaiming to everyone he knows that this is his girlfriend.' Mary raised an eyebrow, knowing she was right.

John couldn't argue with her.

'But also,' Mary continued, 'how do you know she's not just a fangirl?'

John laughed, 'A fangirl?'

'Yes, sitting alone in her bedroom, writing stories about him whilst her bedroom walls are plastered with his face…'

They both paused as they considered the image, catching each other's eye and burst out laughing.

'Ok maybe not,' said Mary, as she turned to make them both tea. 'Look, if she is… someone important, then he would tell us eventually, when he is ready and in his own way, of course. If she isn't, then we may just have another friend.' Mary turned to pour the kettle.

John smiled and thought of the possibility that Sherlock had found someone to possibly share his life with, then felt a pang of something that could be called jealousy. Or perhaps he was just hurt that Sherlock had not mentioned her before. Nevertheless, he shrugged it off and prepared himself for the, possibly long, wait to find out who Mira really was.

* * *

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